One sharp twist broke the animals muffled cries. The silence of the night had been shattered alongside the creatures now limp neck. Teeth embedded themselves in the warm flesh. The rivulets of blood gushed out of the punctures , and spilled down the shadowed man's throat as he fed from the freshly killed creature. His dirtied fingernails strained, eagerly tugging at the flesh that he so desperately craved to tear. The woollen coat of his meal matted with fast congealing blood as the skin was broken, Larten parted his lips and let the crimson feast fill him with new strength.
Wiping his smirking mouth on the ragged sleeve of his cloak, Larten tossed the drained sheep carcass aside and let himself fall back onto the damp grassy tussock. His eyes met the moon to recognise it's new position in the night sky; Larten rubbed a bloodied hand against his jaw and contemplated that there was little more than ninety minutes of comfortable darkness left.
Lying back into the slightly damp vegetation, he let his mind wander, allowing his thoughts to slowly drift into nothingness. He was relatively relaxed having just fed, but as hard as he tried to commit himself to a fully tranquil state, he couldn't. The question was still plaguing his mind: Why was he doing this?
He refused to allow himself to believe that the answer was because he had asked him to.
It would be easy enough just to disappear again, he was more than certain that Hibernius would allow him to drift with Cirque once again.
He was too tired to dwell on all the possibilities, it had been an age since Larten last had a proper nights sleep.
One of the main motives for this venture, Larten reasoned, was the probability that he would once again be reunited, and sleeping inside his extravagant bed, or a coffin if he wished for it[1]. He had missed them dearly.
He'd missed everything dearly.
The memories were constant reminders of what he had unwillingly left behind, of what he was now returning to. It was useless to think that things could return to the way they were before, once he set foot back inside the coven, nothing would ever be the same. If he could somehow turn the clocks back, without the help of Desmond, he would. He'd return to a time when there was similarity, he would return to before.
But he'd been gone too long, leaving a unsightly situation behind. He'd run from his past, attempting to forget, and escape it.
Never the less, Larten knew he could run and hide all he wanted, that wouldn't stop the nightmares. No the nightmare. There was only ever one.
The blood splattered walls and sheets, the screams, the coppery smell that hung like a thick dust in the air. The hunger, the unstoppable craving, the urge, the need.
It was always the same, it never differed. The scene would replay over and over again, it was etched into every inch his subconscious.
Larten shook the thoughts aside, it was dangerous to delve too deeply into the matter. So, like he had done many a time before, he pushed the images to one side, into the back of his mind where they belonged. They were gone for now; he would never truly be rid of them.
Pushing himself off the ground and back onto his feet, he began to walk. It was too late to turn back now, he sought pride in the fact that he had already got this far.
Distracting himself with the scenery, slowly, he noticed that things were becoming familiar. The well known twists and bends of the dirt track. The manner in which the trees arched over the path, their twisted finger like branches clinging to one another, protecting the lone traveller. After a mile or so of following the unused walk way, those large foreboding gates finally came into view.
A nine foot limestone wall surrounded the castle like house, wrought-iron spikes peaked dramatically from the rough stones; most broken and weathered due to the harsh effects of time. The long gravel path which wound its way up to what one presumed to be the entrance, was barred from anyone brave enough to enter by the tangle and entwining of metal that formed the gates, which were dressed with an impress resume of rusted padlocks heading the snake of thick chains.
Larten smiled at the mortal security, the whole place reeked of inhospitality.
But as Seba Nile, his old mentor, used to remind him "Now Larten, one shouldn't judge a book by its cover".
What would Seba think of him now?
The smile fell quickly from his face and in its place a sneer emerged, lips contorted in disgust.
He was a failure. A joke. A catastrophe. A disappointment.
Seba gave him the opportunity to be something, to be a someone. He was trained to be the best, always prepared for the worst. The man had told him on countless occasions that he could achieve anything if truly worked for it. So that's what he did.
He was made General, then Prince. He had easily managed to gain the respect of his peers, then the coven and then the entire vampire world. Oh yes, Larten Crepsley had It all.
But how the mighty have fallen.
Larten sighed, he was dwelling on the past again.
He stifled a yawn, digging his nails into the crumbling rock, he began to climb.
.,.,,.,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..
He heard the whispered "Good Night" and the slight creak of the door being gently closed.
Hidden beneath the covers, Darren smirked.
Even though he been told on many a occasion that it was a ugly expression, but he couldn't stop himself. The evil, wicked smile broadened as he heard the snap of light switch being flicked off, watching the horizontal line of light from underneath his door disappear. Darren carefully counted the footsteps as his guardians made their way up the flight of stairs to the their third floor bedroom.
Kurda and Gavner had gone to bed earlier that expected.
He sat silently in the dark, his ears straining to hear any signs of movement from the floor above him. After a further ten minutes, all was silent. Darren didn't mind the wait as he was, mostly, a patient person.
Carefully pushing the duvet back he sat up and gingerly placed one foot onto the wooden floor, testing that it wouldn't creak underneath his weight. Satisfied, after prodding the floor board a couple of times, that the polished surface wasn't going to give his movements away, Darren let his other foot join its partner.
Slowly and hesitantly, he stood.
Letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Darren turned to face his large bed. Grabbing a couple of spare pillows he stuffed them under the duvet to give the basic outline of what he consider to be himself whilst sleeping. Pulling the cover over his feather figure, he took a step back to admire his craftiness.
"Shit"He cursed, when to his dismay, the floor groaned.
Frantically snatching his foot up he hovered one legged, listening to see if he had given the game away.
Darren sighed quietly with relief, all was still silent, that had been far to close for his liking. He was living with vampires, who's ears could pick out his breathing a mile away. Sighing again, he would just have to be more careful.
"This would be so much easier if they just gave me a coffin" he mumbled, still balancing on one leg.
Resting his raised foot back onto the floor, Darren surveyed the area, making sure that no obstacles were in the path of his escape route. The floor was clean and free from obstructions, as expected, Kurda made sure that his room was immaculate "A cluttered room reflects a cluttered mind". Darren still couldn't comprehend how having a tidy room improved his state of mind, but never the less Kurda's neat freak ways had gotten to him and he kept his sanctuary clean.
Recalling the mental map of his floorboards, Darren took a deep breath and unconsciously began to play the theme tune from Mission Impossible in his head. In three silent, gangly ballet like leaps he cleared the floor space and managed to land on the skirting bored adjacent to the door. Shuffling his unclad feet alone the wood panelling, he drew himself ever closer to his means of exit.
Now came the difficult part.
After numerous trails and various, well planned escapades, Darren found that his next move was the most dangerous. One false move could reveal to the entire coven the evenings plans. The door handle required a gentle touch when opening, as well as delicately manoeuvring the handle, you also had to lift the ancient piece of oak upwards, to avoid the un-oiled hinges from squeaking.
If he could pull this off, he could do anything.
Once again drawing a breath, Darren counted backwards from ten. With each passing of a second his hand got closer to the brass. He watched as the shaking appendage inched towards the handle, using all of his control he slowly wrapped his fingers around the cold metal.
"One" he whispered, and with a firm twist and lift, he speedily opened the door and slipped through the small gap. He waited, ears painfully pricked to acknowledge the slightest sound of his guardians movements which could jeopardise the whole situation.
Thankfully, everything was still silent.
Wiggling his hips in a small dance of victory, Darren tiptoed down the corridor and onto the landing.
"This is going to be a piece of cake" he said quietly, whilst treading down the grand staircase, making sure his feet kept to the far sides of the steps which adjoined to the banister. Darren had learnt, and first seen this particular technique a few years ago.
He grinned at the memory.
A select few of the covens inhabitants knew that a one Gavner Purl and a serious liking for ice-cream. Darren had been made known to the fact when caught the general eating vast amounts of the dairy product one morning[2] during one of his sunlit adventures around the large estate. He'd asked how the older man managed to get down the staircase, which was notorious for its creaking planks, undetected. Gavner offered to inform him of the method as long as Darren kept his secret, secret.
Now years later, he was eternally grateful for such wisdom.
He had so far managed to conquer the two flights of adjoining stairs, which led to ground floor. Now well on his way to Mika's private study, in which Larten's reply was contained.
Darren smirked, whilst talking, Kurda had made a rather silly mistake in revealing the prince who was in possession of the letter.
"Its my right to know what Larten said" he thought. The said ugly expression softening slightly.
Darren had missed him. His sudden disappearance had hurt him, and even after nine years of unexplained absence Darren still did not feel right without the grouchy ginger vampire at his side.
Larten had been the one who found him as a baby, who'd selflessly taken him in. Protected him. Larten was his everything. And then he left. It was his fault, Darren knew it and freely blamed himself.
He had recently turned seven when it happened. A small, stupid child. He'd been playing in the kitchen and broken something, a glass he recalled, and in the process sliced his palm. Blood poured freely from the wound with a staggering pain, it wasn't a large cut but it was deep. Instincts told him to flee to Larten. Bawling like a baby he wrenched open the curtains of the four poster bed and awakening the slumbering male contained within. Holding out his damaged limb, he screamed blindly in pain at his guardian. Kurda, Gavner and Seba had informed his child self to leave his mentor alone for the day, due to the fact that he wasn't feeling himself.
He remembered Larten's menacing, sleepy smile as he laid sights on the bleeding lesion. He vividly recalled the growl which emitted from his beloved teachers mouth as he demanded that the boy show him his hand. All tears stopped then, Larten had never spoken to him like that before. He remembered stumbling up onto massive bed and complying to his mentors forceful request.
In a instant Larten had snatched up his podgy hand and began to suck and bite at the cut. At first his seven year old self thought that his mentor was trying to heal it, relieve him from his pain, kiss it better. But as he felt the blood being drawn from his body, there was no relief just a intense burning sensation travelling up his arm, a pain overload that his little self couldn't cope with. So in his terrified state he somehow managed to tear his hand away and run.
He'd only seen Larten once after the incident, in the dinning room, the evening before his departure.
Larten had written to him a couple of times, expressing his sincerest apologies and saying that he had to attend to business outside the coven. Being young and naïve, he remembered replying simply, saying that he missed him and wished for his Larten to come back soon. Looking back on the letters, which he treasured, he realised that he should have known better. He was living with vampires.
However, he remembered that as he silently sobbed in his room, concealed within his wardrobe, he wished for normal the Larten to come and find him, not the enraged intruder sleeping in his bed. He had sat hidden within the wooden storage compartment for hours, clutching at his palm which he had watched, petrified, as it had healed in front of his very own teary eyes.
Darren sighed as he glanced down at the scar on his hand, pushing open the door of Mika's Study, he crept inside. Mika hadn't locked his study ever since he lost the key some considerable years back. Immediately, he headed straight for the large desk, situated in the corner of the room, next to the window. Flicking on the small table lamp, he began to rummage. The desk had numerous draws and hidden compartments, and a large workspace which graced the top of the furniture. Pens were scattered about here and there as the teen nosily delved through the spider-hating prince's personals.
Moving to retrieve some of the dispersed stationary, something caught his eye.
A shadow, or something, had blocked the dim moonlight which, a second ago, passed through into the room via the window. Carelessly glancing at the fogged glass, Darren gasped, his movements suddenly halted. Immobilized in fear, he stared at the window.
There, staring back at him was a face, a slightly blurry face, but a face nonetheless.
With a loud, piercing shriek, Darren turned, wrenched open the door and ran.
He could already hear hurried footsteps as he sprinted back the way he came, not daring to look back over his shoulder.
Screaming, he hauled himself up the first stair case, and then the second, racing towards his bedroom. Flinging open the door, he scrambled across the floor and dived into his bed and hid himself in the blankets.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Someone bellowed, probably Vancha, from the lower floors.
Darren shuddered as he heard more angry shouts and disgruntled yells, each demanding an explanation.
"Where is he!?" A familiar, anxious voice called "Where's Darren?"
"Kurda?"
"Darren!"
The blond Prince rushed into his bedroom and protectively drew the bundled boy into his arms. Sitting himself on the bed, Kurda extracted the ghostly white, trembling teen from the bedspread.
"Bloody hell," he gasped when seeing the younger males complexion "What on earth's happened?"
"That's what we'd all like to know" muttered Gavner, strolling into the room.
"T-There's s-someone d-downstairs" Darren stuttered quickly, " outside Mika's office"
"What were you doing in my office, Darren?" Mika asked sharply, leaning back against the doorframe, looking rather sinister in his black silk dressing gown.
"What did you just say Darren?" Gavner asked, his face deadly serious.
But before Darren could even attempt a answer either of them, Mika was rudely shoved aside as Vancha bounded into the room, a tired looking Paris trailing in after him.
"What's all this then?" Vancha asked, bemused. However, once realising that Darren was the cause of the commotion, he grinned, and turned to address his comrades " All is well gentlemen, I have come to chase little Darren's nightmares away"
"There's someone downstairs, outside Mika's office!" Darren shouted exasperatedly, ignoring the green haired man's comments.
"Are you sure? Did you recognize them?" Paris asked, suddenly wide awake. An intruder in the grounds was dangerous. It couldn't possibly be another vampire, no sane nightwalker would be walking around outside the coven at this time in the morning, except Vancha maybe
"Yes, I'm sure." he replied "They didn't look familiar."
The room, and the connecting hallway was silent. Everyone was listening, waiting for Paris to instruct them on a course of action.
"Find him, and quickly. Remove whoever they are from our property" he spat bitterly. The coven was a secret and Paris would do everything in his power for it a remain a secret.
The silence was suddenly broken, as once again, voices roared and yelled. Feet pounded at the ancient floors as vampires now rushed off in every direction to retrieve their heavy day cloaks to go out and search from the impostor.
Vancha, eager to lead the brigade, dragged the upright princes out of Darren's bedroom, leaving Kurda sitting with his young charge.
Darren sighed into his guardians shoulder, it was only a matter of time before Kurda ask him the only question he had neglected to answer:
"You were looking for the letter weren't you, Darren?" Kurda smiled, he knew the teen far to well.
"Of course I was" he muttered bitterly, unable to deceive his protector.
"Did you find it? Kurda asked sharply, in all seriousness.
"No." Darren stated bluntly, flexing his jaw.
"Good," Kurda sighed dismissively, smiling "you had me worried there. I would've had to rearrange the whole party if you'd found that letter. You know, the balloons, the bouncy castle and most importantly the cake"
"Your hilarious." Darren coughed, the sprint up the staircase hadn't done anything for his cold, "but, I wouldn't actually mind a bouncy cast.."
Darren stopped mid sentence as he heard Vancha's raucous laughter, "Ha, you scared the shit out of him, he's as white as a ghost"
Others joined in with the flamboyant prince, jesting and cackling at the recent turn of events.
Kurda frowned as he heard the doors of the main close with a resounding thud, "What on earths going on?" he questioned.
Standing and pulling Darren to his feet, Kurda dragged the teen down the hallway and onto the landing to see what all the commotion was about.
Darren, like Kurda, looked over the oak banister of the second floor to see the to that most of the covens inhabitants were gathered in the main entrance, some distance below him.
A deafening chorus of cheers and yells broke out as the vampires congregated around something, or someone, their happy shouts bouncing off the walls and assaulting Darren's ears.
Darren made out Paris's distinct voice, breaking through that of the crowd's, "Welcome back"
The choir of gruff voices echoed the greeting, laughing happy.
Darren gasped and his eyes widened as he fixed them on the old Prince, watching as he embraced the skinny, tall man at the centre of the ruckus. He watched their lips move as the exchange greetings, but it was impossible to hear what they were saying. Paris began to talk animatedly with his hands, pointing here and there.
Darren looked to his side for Kurda, but grimaced as he saw the blond striding down the stairs.
Glancing back down his breath stopped, out of his peripheral vision he could make out Paris pinpointing something on the grand ceiling. Through the noise and the mass of moving vampires, Darren's eyes stopped, immovable, entrapped in the intense gaze that of red haired man who was standing on the houses large doormat.
Larten Crepsley had, finally, come home.
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[1]Larten has a bed and a coffin, the bed for winter a coffin for summer
[2] Gavner likes ice-cream.
If any mistakes please tell me, its un-beta'd….I don't know where bunyon is…
Neica, please fix my errors…..
I'm So So So So So Sorry.
Please forgive me!!
I don't know when I will update again, but I shall. Drop me a line, I don't bite. Your all welcome, more than welcome, to curse my being for taking so bloody long,
I apologise once again.
"Don't Stop Believing….."